★★Mariella's POV★★



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I woke up before the sun even had a chance to rise.

Ha, slowpoke.

Since I had some time to kill before the mission, I decided to squeeze in a quick training session. Excitement buzzed through me—I couldn't wait to get started.

Dressed in a light purple gym set, I'd just wrapped up a round of Brazilian jiu-jitsu with my instructor. He's a skilled trainer from Brazil, and while I respect his expertise, I swear he reminds me of Splinter, the rat from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

It's the way he carries himself—calm, wise, and always a little too serious. I told him once, straight to his face, and he just stared at me like I'd lost my mind.

Whatever.

I was just being honest.

Outside, I set up a series of dummies at varying distances—some close, some farther out. Each one stood as a silent challenge, taunting me to hit them perfectly. My knives, freshly sharpened and gleaming, were strapped neatly across my body.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. My heart rate slowed as I focused, narrowing my eyes on the closest target. Without a second's hesitation, I grabbed a knife from its sheath and let it fly. The blade sliced clean through the air, landing dead center between the dummy's eyes with a satisfying thunk.

I didn't stop. My hand shot to my side, grabbing another knife, and I flung it toward a distant target.

Bullseye.

With a grin, I pulled two knives this time—one in each hand. I curved my arms, aiming for two separate dummies. With a flick of my wrists, both blades sailed through the air, embedding themselves squarely in their chests.

I paused, steadying my breath, scanning the field. Every single dummy had a knife lodged in its most vital spot.

Not one miss.

Unable to contain my excitement, I let out a quick cheer, throwing my fists in the air. "Ah-ha! Beat that, suckers!" I grinned, proud of my flawless aim.

The sound of footsteps behind me caught my attention. Turning around, I saw Enzo and Santino walking toward me, both already up and dressed in their training gear.

I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. "Looks like I'm not the only early bird in this house," I said, giving them a pointed look.

They exchanged a glance, like they were silently communicating in some weird m orse code only they understood, then turned their attention back to me.

"What?" I asked, my annoyance creeping in. I hated when people kept secrets from me.

Enzo's gaze shifted over my shoulder, lingering on the dummies I'd left behind—each one with a knife lodged dead center. Then his eyes snapped back to me, narrowing. "Where'd you learn that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Yeah, are you like some secret assassin or something?" Santino chimed in mockingly, though his tone carried a hint of genuine curiosity.

Oh, crap. Little did they know, they'd just hit the nail on the head.

Keeping my expression neutral, I cleared my throat and glanced away, trying not to seem suspicious.

"I hired a professional to teach me," I said, shrugging. It wasn't a complete lie. I had trained with professionals—just not in the way they were imagining. I'd spent months in Japan learning under a master assassin, but they thought I went there to party. And sure, I did party... occasionally. But my main focus had always been training.

Enzo and Santino exchanged another glance, both raising a skeptical eyebrow before looking back at me.

"In three months?" they said in unison.

I chuckled nervously, feeling the walls closing in. My eyes darted around for a way to escape this interrogation. Then, an idea struck.

"I—uh... Oh no!" I said dramatically, glancing at my watch. "I'm gonna be late for my mission!"

Their suspicious gazes stayed locked on me as I took a step back.

"Toodles!" I added with a forced chuckle, spinning on my heel and jogging toward the house.

Even as I made it inside, I could feel their eyes burning holes in my back.

Damn it.

Mariella, you'd have to be more careful next time. Geez

I sprint to my room, slamming the door shut behind me as I let out a deep exhale. Wasting no time, I start stripping off my clothes on my way to the shower. The hot water pelts my skin as I take the quickest shower in history.

Stepping out, I grab a towel and drag it across my body while rushing to my walk-in closet. My foot slips slightly on the floor, but I manage to catch myself before disaster strikes.

"Damn it," I mutter under my breath.

Mellow, my cat, meows in response, perched on her favorite spot by the window. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," I grumble, pulling open a drawer.

I grab a clean version of the same mission outfit I wore during the ritual mission: sleek, functional, and deadly. I pull it on piece by piece, fastening my gun holster around my thigh and strapping my poisoned knife securely into its sheath.

Once dressed, I yank my hair into a tight ponytail, braiding the length of it to keep it out of the way. At my vanity, I quickly swipe on a sharp line of eyeliner and a touch of lip gloss.

Hey, just because I'm out here killing people doesn't mean I can't look good doing it.

I take one last glance in the mirror, checking that everything is in place, when there's a firm knock on my door.

"Yes?" I call out, loud enough to be heard.

"It's Giovanni," comes the reply. "Your father's waiting in the driveway to see you off."

I glance back at Mellow, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her head. "Be good, Mellow," I whisper, before running to the door and yanking it open.

Giovanni's eyes rake over my outfit, and he smirks like the cocky bastard he is.

I roll my eyes. "Hey, dude," I greet him, annoyed and already regretting the interaction.

His gaze lingers on my face before he chuckles. "You're giving off serious Black Widow vibes, Bambina" he teases, stepping aside to let me through.

Shit, Scarlet Johansson I'm no better than a man.

As I brush past him, I scoff. "And has anyone ever told you that you give off 'third wheel energy'? Must be exhausting."

Giovanni laughs at my sharp comeback, trailing behind me as I make my way down the hall and toward the spiral staircase. My boots echo against the polished floor, a steady rhythm matching my determination.

Outside, my sleek black Mercedes-Benz AMG waits in the driveway, its polished surface gleaming under the morning light. My father stands with his back to me, deep in conversation with a couple of guards.

My father turns around when he hears the sound of Giovanni and me descending the stairs. His face lights up with a big smile as he extends his arms.

"Bellezza!" he exclaims warmly.

"Papa!" I reply, chuckling as I match his smile and step into his embrace.

He pulls back slightly, looking me over from head to toe. "Are you prepared?" he asks, his eyes lingering on my outfit. "Cool outfit, bellezza," he adds with a nod of approval.

"Thanks, Papa. And yes, I'm all strapped and ready," I say confidently, giving him a quick twirl to show off my gear.

"Perfect," he says, his voice softening slightly. Then his gaze sharpens as he asks, "And your necklace?"

I sigh, a little annoyed, and tug the chain out from underneath my fitted shirt. "Right here," I say, holding it up for him to see.

His expression relaxes as he nods sharply. But then, his face shifts, filling with worry and remorse. He takes my hands gently, his eyes locking with mine, and says in a low, heartfelt voice, "Per favore, per l'amor di Dio. Riportamelo. (Please, for the love of God. Make it back to me.)"

A tight knot forms in my chest at the raw emotion in his words, but I push it down. He needs reassurance, not my hesitation. I squeeze his hands firmly, meeting his gaze with steady resolve.

"Lo prometto sul mignolo, lo giuro. (I pinky promise swear)," I say with a small smile, holding out my pinky.

He looks down at my hand, his lips twitching with the hint of a smile. Then he hooks his pinky with mine, and I seal the promise with a light kiss on my hand sealing the deal.

"Brava," he murmurs, though the worry doesn't fully leave his eyes.

I step away, making my way toward my car, where Giovanni is already holding the driver's door open for me.

Sliding into the seat, I glance up at him as I start the engine. The car hums to life, its smooth purr filling the driveway.

Giovanni leans slightly against the doorframe, grinning down at me. "In and out?" he asks with a raised brow.

I flash him a mischievous smirk, fingers drumming against the wheel. "More like a quick hello and an even faster goodbye," I quip before slamming my foot on the gas.

As the car begins to roll forward, I catch a glimpse of my father in the rearview mirror. He's still standing there, his eyes locked on me as I drive away.

My father had already entered the coordinates into the car's navigation system, making things easy. It was only a 30-minute drive—not bad. With the windows rolled down and the speedometer pushing 120 mph on the highway, I had A Thousand Miles by Vanessa Carlton blasting.

Gosh, I love this song.

The breezy air whipped through my hair as I weaved between cars, singing at the top of my lungs. "Making my way downtown, walking fast, faces pass, and I'm homebound!" A couple of drivers honked at me, either because of my speed or my terrible singing, but I didn't care.

A few minutes later, the music died down as I turned it low, focusing on the navigation. The path led me off the highway and onto a narrow dirt road heading into the woods. I furrowed my brow at the screen. "Where the hell are we going?" I muttered, gripping the wheel as the bumpy road shook the car.

Soon enough, an old, rusty, crumpled-down warehouse came into view. Perfect. I parked behind a cluster of trees to keep the car out of sight, grabbed my essentials, and stepped out. The cool breeze hit my face as I moved lightly on my feet, circling the building.

At the front, eight cars were parked haphazardly. "Great, a full house," I muttered sarcastically before making my way around to the back of the warehouse. A single door greeted me—my best shot at sneaking in unnoticed.

I tested the handle, twisting it slightly. Of course, it was locked. "Well, isn't this just protagonist problems 101?" I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Next thing you know, there's gonna be a guard dog named Lucky."

Kneeling, I pulled two needles from my hair and got to work on the lock. "Thank you, Eliseo," I whispered, mentally thanking my hacker for the random lockpicking tutorials he'd forced me to learn. After a couple of minutes of tinkering, I heard the faint click of the lock giving way.

"Finally," I muttered, slipping the needles back into my hair as I stood. I grabbed the doorknob and pushed it open slowly, wincing at the high-pitched, eerie creak it made. "Subtle, very subtle," I grumbled under my breath, slipping inside.

I steadied my breathing, repeating my earlier mantra in my head: In and out. In and out.

The hallway was dimly lit, shadows dancing along the cracked walls. My fingers twitched, hovering over the knives strapped to my sides. If someone popped out, they wouldn't have time to blink before hitting the floor.

I walked down the hallway until the faint sound of music and chattering drifted from the other side of a set of double doors. I stopped in my tracks, taking a moment to weigh my options.

Should I kick the doors open and go on a wild rampage? Or stroll in like I have no clue where I am, just another clueless wanderer?

I tapped my chin, mulling it over. "Hmm... Crazy could be fun, but would it get me killed? Good question, Mariella. Excellent point," I muttered to myself.

With a shrug, I smirked. "Well, guess there's only one way to find out."

Mariella struts into the room confidently, pushing the doors open with enough force to silence the music and chatter. The men gathered inside freeze, their attention snapping to her like predators sniffing out unfamiliar prey.

"Wow, this is the exclusive VIP hangout?" I announce, letting my voice drip with mockery. "No wonder I wasn't invited. Real classy setup you've got here."

I take my time scanning the room, committing every detail to memory—the number of armed men, the nearest exits, the ones who look trigger-happy and the ones who are just here for the booze. It smells like stale cigars and bad decisions, and I can already tell none of them expected an uninvited guest.

The reaction is instant. Conversations die, chairs scrape against the floor as several men turn toward me, their faces twisting in irritation. Some reach for their weapons, others just glare like I've personally offended them by breathing the same air.

"The hell is this?" one of them snaps, standing up so fast his drink nearly spills. "Who let her in?"

"Real bold move, sweetheart," another sneers, his eyes raking over me like he's deciding whether I'm a threat or just a nuisance.

I hold my ground, offering nothing but a smirk, my fingers twitching at my sides, already calculating how quickly I can turn this whole room upside down if I have to.

Then, one of them—older, scarred, the kind of man who's seen too much and lived to tell about it—leans forward, narrowing his eyes. I see it happen in real-time, the slow puzzle pieces clicking into place in his head. His frown deepens, and then his expression shifts into something almost entertained.

"Wait a damn minute." He steps closer, pointing a thick finger at me. His smirk widens like he's enjoying the moment. "I know you... don't I?" A pause, then the realization lands. "You're Mariella De Angelis, aren't you? Princess of the Italian mafia."

The room stirs with murmurs, but I don't flinch. Instead, I lean casually against a nearby crate, crossing my arms. "Oh, so you do know me. Flattered. Should I be charging for autographs?"

But the man's grin widens, dark and taunting. "No, no... I recognize that face now." His eyes gleam with cruel amusement. "You're the spitting image of your mama. Fragile little thing, wasn't she? Just like the rest of your so-called mafia—soft, weak, all bark and no bite."

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if the memory is something to savor. "Didn't take much to break her, did it? She folded just like the rest of you will. Not much of a fight, not much of a legacy. Just a name people barely respect anymore." His smirk deepens, eyes locking onto mine. "Tell me, Mariella, are you as easy to break as she was?"

Did- did he just...laugh?

The room erupts with laughter. All of them. Every single bastard in the cartel has the audacity to laugh in my face, their mocking voices filling the air like a toxic fog. My fists clench so tightly that my nails dig into my palms, but I don't feel the pain. My vision blurs at the edges, narrowing on the man's sneering face, his voice still echoing in my ears.

And then, I see red.

The laughter fades into the background, drowned out by the pounding of my heart. Everything else disappears—the smell of the cheap cigars, the clinking of glasses, the faint hum of music still playing in the corner. All I can focus on is him, his cruel smirk, and the blood that will soon be spilling from his throat.

Then something snaps.

Before the man can blink, I lunge. My knife is in my hand so fast it's a blur, and the next thing he knows, it's buried deep in his throat. Blood spurts out in a crimson arc, his eyes widening in shock as his hands claw uselessly at the blade.

The room erupts into chaos, but I'm already moving. Another knife is in my grip, and I hurl it across the room, striking a man square in the chest before he can even draw his gun.

"You think you can say her name?" I snarl, my voice shaking with fury as I grab the next man, slamming him against the wall. I stab him repeatedly, my rage blinding me to his strangled cries.

The others panic. Some scramble for their guns, others for the door, but none of them get far. I'm relentless. Blood splatters the walls, the floor—my hands. I don't stop until the room falls eerily silent, save for my heavy breathing and the slow drip of blood pooling around my boots.

I stand there, trembling slightly, staring at the carnage I've caused. The air reeks of iron and death, but I don't care. I wipe my blade on one of the fallen men's jackets, my face cold and blank as I mutter under my breath, "You shouldn't have mentioned her."

I force a sharp exhale, my body still buzzing with adrenaline.

Focus, Mariella. One last thing to take care of.

Stepping over the bodies, I make my way to the cartel's computer station.

My fingers fly across the keyboard as I log in, using the intel Eliseo had given me before the mission. "Let's see what these bastards have been stashing," I murmur to myself. Within seconds, I bypass their weak security and am staring at rows of account numbers and digital currency balances.

"Jackpot," I say, a grim smile tugging at my lips. Without wasting a second, I transfer every cent in their accounts into one belonging to my father. For good measure, I plant a virus in their system, a little extra gift to wipe their financial records clean. "Hope you weren't saving for retirement," I quip, watching the progress bar inch closer to completion.

When the transfer is finally done, I don't hesitate. I plug in a flash drive and download anything useful—contacts, shipment details, anything that could be valuable for my father. I smirk to myself.

Perfect.

But then I hear it. Footsteps.

Shit.

I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. In an instant, instinct kicks in. I dart behind a large steel cabinet, pressing my back into the shadows, my breath shallow and quiet. The footsteps grow louder, and I curse under my breath.

The last thing I need right now is to be caught.

I peek out from behind the cabinet, watching as the shadows of the hallway stretch into the room. I don't have much time. My options are limited. There's a small window across the room, but running for it would be too risky—too much noise. The best bet is to stay still, stay quiet, and hope whoever it is doesn't check the room.

The footsteps stop right outside the door. My body goes rigid. I grip my knives, waiting.

I can hear him—rustling clothes, the soft sound of his boots scraping against the floor. He's not moving.

I curse myself for not dealing with him earlier. What if he's one of the cartel's higher-ups? Or worse, a guard with more training than the rest?

The seconds tick by, but it feels like hours. I hold my breath, barely daring to move.

I stay as still as possible, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. The silence in the room is deafening, every tiny sound amplified in the tense atmosphere. The door creaks slightly, just enough to make my muscles tighten in anticipation.

Then, the footsteps resume, but this time they're accompanied by a low murmur of voices—too many for me to take on at once. I force myself to stay low, my fingers curled tightly around my knives. I can feel the tension in the air as the sound of boots on the floor grows louder.

Through the slight crack in the door, I see them—three guards, each armed with rifles. They move in sync, a well-oiled machine, scanning the room methodically. Their eyes sweep across the room, but thankfully, they don't see me. I breathe a sigh of relief, but it's short-lived.

The guards start to fan out, moving closer to the center of the room, their guns still raised. I count them, my mind racing for options. Three on the ground, one of them just a few feet away from me. A perfect opportunity... if only I could get close enough.

My eyes flicker toward the small desk near the back. A faint light from a desk lamp reflects off a shiny object—one of their flashlights. If I can make it to that, I'll have a better shot at getting behind them.

But no. I need to wait for the right moment.

The guards get closer, and I hold my breath, my body aching with the need to move. My pulse quickens, my fingers twitching, but I stay as still as stone. Then, just as one of the guards turns his back to me, I make my move.

I leap from behind the cabinet, my body moving fluidly as I grab the guard's rifle from behind. He doesn't even have time to react before I slam the butt of the rifle into his temple, the sickening crack echoing through the room. He crumples to the floor with a gasp, but I don't have time to savor the moment.

I spin, releasing my knives in a fluid motion. The first one flies through the air, striking the second guard right in the chest. The impact is brutal, and he lets out a strangled scream as he collapses, blood splattering across the floor.

The third guard reacts too late, his eyes widening in disbelief. He goes for his gun, but I'm already there, twisting the rifle from his hands. His scream of frustration is cut off as I slam his head into the desk, the sound of his skull hitting wood enough to silence him. He crumples like a ragdoll, groaning as his body hits the floor.

I move quickly, disarming him and tossing him over my shoulder. His scream echoes through the room as I throw him to the side, but the only thing that matters now is getting rid of the last two.

The remaining guards are in full panic mode now, scrambling to grab their weapons and scream orders. But I'm faster. I charge at the first guard who tries to turn around, taking him out with a swift knee to the gut before throwing him to the ground. He screams in pain, his voice high-pitched and desperate, but it's already too late.

The last guard, realizing he's cornered, screams in terror, his hands shaking as he tries to aim his gun. But before he can get a shot off, I'm on him. My fist connects with his jaw, knocking him back. His scream is cut off mid-breath as I deliver the final blow, knocking him out cold.

The room is filled with the echoes of their screams, but it's silent now. I stand in the middle of the carnage, my chest rising and falling with every breath.

The room is too quiet for a moment, too still, and I take a moment to steady my breathing. The air smells of blood and adrenaline, and all I can hear is the slow, steady drip of their blood pooling on the floor. I step over the bodies, grabbing their weapons, adding them to my arsenal. A quick glance at the door tells me there's no one else coming—at least, not yet.

For now, the room is mine.

My eyes flick over the lifeless bodies scattered across the floor, a grim reminder of how quickly things can go south. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, but my instincts remain sharp. I scan the room, preparing to move again when—

A soft crack of glass behind me.

Ah, shit.

I don't even have time to react. Before I can turn around, a sharp, blinding pain explodes in the back of my head. My vision fades to black, and the world around me collapses.

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NOO!

who tf was that?

Guess it wasn't an in and out, huh?

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡

*Mariella's Outfit*